The Roots of an Oak

And one day

You will wake up

To find you have been reborn and

Something new and familiar has grown

In its place with eyes a little sharper

And bones aching and

Hands reaching into the northwest air tunnels of mystery and ancient water-ways

The scent of dry dirt will

still mingle beneath shedding skins and

The beauty of full lungs and

Raw sunshine will

still seek you in cracked-clouds

Grandmother oak will

still echo in the structures you have

Developed into your home-body

And you will still tell them

You come from the oak trees

And redwoods

And crisp warm summer nights but

You belong to the mosses now and

Wet winters and

Wet soil

Made from untethered fresh mornings and smoggy interstates and walking into

Mystic springs of soul-bent cedar

and winding mountain roads

-

Reflections of letting go and moving on

(and honoring roots)